31 May 2011

Recently I have been having extremely vivid dreams. One about my father--not so good. Another about planting flowers--better, although it appears I am no more of a green thumb in cloudland than i am right here in the real world. Kind of depressing. I mean, what's the point of a dream if i cant be a bad ass in it eh?

Whats more disturbing than the spate of dreams is that I am waking myself up because I find myself talking out loud. Its extremely disconcerting to wake up to your own voice. You hear a phrase, it makes no sense, you think who is talking here, and then you realize it's you.

Why do our brains do that? Random misfiring? Does it serve a purpose? Is it a tumor??

21 May 2011

Ahh...I am sad to see the rapture fun end. We can joke and laugh like it was no big deal but, Harold Camping convinced a lot of, well, simple minded but probably good intentioned folks into giving him a boat load of cash to "spread the gospel." Over 100 million in the last seven years according to at least one story.

People quit their jobs, gave away their possessions, dropped out of school so they could prepare for the rapture. Sure all those who would be left behind had a good laugh but some folks have more than just egg on their faces. It's hard to feel bad for them...but i guess these are moments when i think--Richard Dawkins is right when he rallies against the indoctrination of children and weak minded folks. This is why he calls for militant atheism. I guess its time more of us came out of the proverbial closet eh?

19 May 2011

I'm putting together a playlist for a friend. I love to do this, and depending on the circumstances for the creation of the playlist (for a loved one, for a road trip, for a family member's birthday, for a party), I find that I learn something new about myself each time.

On my iPod I have a playlist called 'happy.' I realized soon after creating this that, while these songs make me happy, they may not be ones I want others to hear. There are some great songs in there, but man I listen to some wretched stuff! I'm am pretty sure that no one else's wants to listen to the Spin Doctors....maybe a guy who was transported here from 1991(Sweet Fannie Adams---1991?!).

Putting together a playlist is now so easy. Hipsters who can write better than me have waxed poetic about mix tapes so I won't bother doing that. We all know, labor of love etc etc. What I find is that, regardless of the medium, I still have a insane desire to send along with the music an explanation of why I am including this song or the historic context of that song. It's like I am scared that it will get interpreted incorrectly when, in reality, I have no control over the listeners interpretation of the song. My memories, my feelings surrounding the song are mine alone. I'm not sure I can force the song to convey a certain feeling, no matter how much I would like to.

I guess while making this playlist I've learned that I should just relax and let the music say whatever it needs to say.

16 May 2011

I am nearly finished with San Francisco Noir, a title that Q picked up for me from the oh so divine City Lights Bookstore (Thanks again Q).

The book is a series of short stories based in different SF neighborhoods, all dark gritty noir plots, and I was surprised to find that San Francisco was a good city for that style of drama. I have my own feelings about SF but it's never felt cold, cruel, and cynical to me. I'm pleasantly surprised by what the writers have done to familiar neighborhoods.

I find that the book is making me long to watch Double Indemnity, and The Maltese Falcon. To drink too much in a dark bar watching the rain make patterns on the window. I suppose it will be wise for me to move on to a less influential book eh? Up next...Uranium because yes, I'm that much of a geek; and Cold because I dislike summers an awful lot...

~B

P.S. If you dig all things noir you really should check out the other titles from Akashic Books' noir series. You're bound to find a city you like.

03 May 2011

I love olden times (that's an official historian term by the way). Today while writing about Nike missiles and sharpening my pencil i realized how much i love antiquated things. You know:

Writing with wooden pencils...

Using an old typewriter...

Airships...

1950s robots...

And of course, heavy black rotary phones...

...you know the kind you could brain someone with if you wanted to.

Why do some of us cling to these antiquated things? It's not that we're hipsters, our love of old discarded items came long before skinny jean-unnecessary scarf wearing dipshits made it cool to like all things retro again. Our love of these items is real and true.

What is it about the heavy clunky items of the past that hold such an attraction for me and others like me?

You see it in every clique....techno nerds who wet themselves at the site of a commodore 64, jock nerds who long for baseball players in stirrups. Something in these old discarded sturdy items speak to our soul. Perhaps it's just that...sturdy, heavy, something with weight, something not easily thrown into the trash, something that feels permanent in our otherwise entirely disposable lives.